A Winter's Tale
by Rosie85
Summary: Sherlock & Molly and a cold winter's night at 221B. Post Reichenbach. Sherolly. Oneshot most likely


**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters. All are thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat & Mark Gatiss. I will forever remain their enthusiastic fan.

**Arthur Note:** This is a story I've worked on for about a month. I hope all you Sherolly fans enjoy. I am marking this as a One-Shot, but it is a possibility that I may write a second chapter. We shall see if inspiration strikes. For now, I believe this can stand alone.

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**A Winter's Tale**

"Have you ever been in love?" Molly asked Sherlock, her tone genuine, as she spoke into her whiskey glass as she raised it to her mouth for another sip.

Molly and Sherlock sat next to each other on the couch in the living room of 221B, the clock having just struck one-thirty in the morning. John, Mary, and Lestrade had parted 2 hours before, and Molly, having the next day off of work, decided to stay for a while longer when she noticed the look of disappointment on Sherlock's face when the other three dinner guests had announced their departure. John and Mary had now been married for 9 months and were now living in a flat roughly 20 minutes from Baker Street. The move had not been easy for Sherlock, and as much as he denied it, she knew that he grew lonely with only his Skull for company.

When the three left Molly headed into the kitchen to help Sherlock clear up, "It was a lovely dinner. Where did you learn to cook like that?"

Sherlock was putting away leftovers in the fridge, "I had a few days to spare while in Tuscany last year. I was quite bored as I would never had pursued culinary skills otherwise. "

"Well, you're a fast learner that's for sure, but I wouldn't have expected anything else."

"Hmm," he responded and gave a slight smile.

They finished clearing up the kitchen in companionable silence, and as Sherlock was placing the last cleaned bowl on top of the fridge, he noticed the bottle of whiskey that John had gifted him at his wedding.

"Oh," he said enthusiastically. He reached up for the bottle, "Molly, fancy a nightcap?"

Molly looked over, "Oh, whiskey? Absolutely," she said enthusiastically as she set the dish towel down and walked into the living room, "After the week we both had I think we've earned a little more indulgence."

She curled up into the corner of the couch, which was now directly in front of the fire place, as it had been moved to make room in the other half of the room for the kitchen table.

Molly reached out with the poker and moved the wood and embers around to keep the fire going.

"Cold?" Sherlock asked as he sat down next to her and set the two glasses and bottle down.

"Just a little."

"My apologies. The heating here does tend to slow down in the winter. The snowstorm now certainly doesn't help. I'll be right back."

He got up and headed to his room and came back with an ivory colored blanket. He folded it at the corners, creating a shawl,

"Here you are," he said as he came up behind her and placed it on her shoulders.

"Thank You," she said as she pulled it around herself. She smiled warmly at him as he sat back down next to her. She sat back into the cushions and curled her feet under her, feeling perfectly relaxed. It had been a stressful and eventful week for them. Molly had spent the last five days working the graveyard shift, and surprisingly, Sherlock had been there almost every night. He in turn was working a triple homicide while she had performed 15 autopsies. They were both relieved that he was able to wrap up the case Thursday afternoon, allowing him time to rest and prep for the next day's dinner.

Sherlock poured the whiskey and handed her a glass as he took up his own, "What should we drink to?"

"To you hosting more dinner parties?"

"No," he said with a cheerful smirk.

"I'd say to the Serial Killers, because they keep you busy, but that may be too grim. Plus, I was told long ago to not make jokes." She giggled and gave him a grin.

"Too right, I suppose, but, I like your jokes."

"To my jokes then?" She raised her glass.

"To your jokes." He said as he clinked her glass.

They took up their tumblers and slowly downed the contents, relishing in its burning sweetness.

"Oh, that's delicious," Molly said as she set her now empty glass on the coffee table, "Where on earth did you find that?"

"I didn't," he said as he topped off their glasses, "It was a groomsman gift from John."

"Well that was generous of him."

Their conversation continued on freely for the next 2 hours beginning first with an overview Sherlock's latest case. A particular detail about one of the victims (a broken ulna at age 10) transitioned their conversation to the both of them exchanging injury stories from childhood: Sherlock had broken his leg at age 7 when he was forced to jump from an oak tree he'd been reading in, in order to escape a swarm of honey bees. Molly had dislocated her knee and fractured her ankle during a football match when she was 15. The injury had ended her future continuation in the sport. The childhood stories progressed through primary and secondary school and continued all the way through their Post Uni days.

Molly was happy to see Sherlock so relaxed and open. Since his return he was less abrasive, more patient, but still brilliant. It warmed her heart to see him this way. It made her love him that much more. His time away, though, had given her time to come to terms with her feelings towards him. In his absence she came to accept that there would never be a romantic relationship between herself and Sherlock. Yes, she still adored him, and still had_ those_ feelings, but she kept them locked up; never forgetting them, but she now lived her life knowing she was okay having those feelings and only being his friend. That was enough for her, and she cherished their new friendship and bond all the more.

As a result of John's marriage to Mary, Sherlock and Molly's time together had steadily increased. Not just at work, but in private as well. Whenever John was unavailable to aid with a case, Sherlock turned to the pathologist for help. With their time together on cases increasing, there were now frequent lunches, late night dinners (which consisted mostly of Chinese takeaway) and post-case celebratory drinks with Lestrade and John. Sherlock's return from the dead had prompted him to finally embrace his humanness. He no longer spent all his time immersed in puzzles and cases. Instead, he was now splitting his time between work and spending the rest of his time strengthening his relationships with those he had left. Molly Hooper was, of course, no exception.

Upon his return, he saw Molly in a different light. He had only caught a glimpse of it the night he asked for her help, but returning home two years later, and seeing the progression in her character and confidence, and also seeing her "Schoolgirl crush" persona diminished, he was now able to see her for who she was. Who she had always been: Witty, intelligent, and surprisingly, charming. In the now 10 months since his return, he now considered Molly as close a friend and confidant as John.

His openness about his childhood and his relationships with his peers at Uni prompted her to ask him a question. One that she had always wondered about him, "Have you ever been in love?"

Sherlock stopped mid sip, and looked over at Molly, and then slowly set down his glass. Molly finished her sip and looked at him. After a few seconds, Molly still hadn't broke off eye contact, something that he was hoping he could do with his silence, but when he realized that this would not be happening, he looked away and down at his glass. He let out a breath as he picked it up and brought it to his mouth, "Almost," he answered, and that was the truth.

"Care to elaborate, If not, I understand."

He gave her the cliff-notes version of his encounter with Irene Adler. Explaining to Molly how Irene's boldness and intelligence had captivated him. Her whole being had thrown him completely off kilter. He explained how he couldn't really call his feelings "love" as he had concluded after their last encounter, that what he had felt was a deep admiration and respect, as she was the one person, the one woman, who had come close to besting him. And for a brief moment, had stirred up emotions in him that he had never before experienced.

"Hmm," Molly replied as she smiled into her glass and took a sip again, "sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I was just curious, that's all."

"No, it's fine. What about you?"

"Once; A long time ago." She looked away as she remembered.

"And?"

"And?" She repeated. Sherlock gestured for her to continue, "It's a long story... You honestly want to hear it?"

"Well, I did just share my story. It seems only fair you share yours. Yes, I'd like to hear it, but I am sensing it is painful, so you do not need to share... But I'm curious about who captured your attention long ago, as I know you have been _very_ fickle with your dates as of late."

She picked up her cushion and hit him with it, "Stop that," she said as she giggled.

"What, it's true!" He said laughing, "I've noticed. And haven't I kept my word and not interfered or deduced anything about your personal life?"

She let out a sigh, "Yes, you have, and thanks for that... You do know you were one more insult away from getting clogged in the head with a beaker?"

"And rightfully deserved, I am sure."

Silence again. "So?" He encouraged.

"His name was Richard. We met first year of Uni and were together up until I graduated med school. I switched majors second year, and got in to Cambridge. So, by the time I graduated it was about seven years in total."

"What happened?"

"That is the question," she said contemptibly, "or, at least, that _was_ the question that plagued me for well over a year after it ended."

"I'm sensing that he ended things?"

"Practically... We were Engaged."

Sherlock gave her a surprised look. He had not deduced this about her when they first met, but then again, there's always something he misses.

"Briefly," she quickly clarified, "it was after I graduated. He proposed, and then about two months after he just... "

Molly paused and brushed angrily at a tear that appeared in the corner of her left eye, furious at its appearance, "He just became distant, and after a while, I just couldn't take it anymore, and I just knew that what we were, what we were becoming, was not the type of relationship that is meant to last a lifetime, so, I gave him the ring back and moved out of the flat we shared... And he did not stop me, and that was the most surprising, and most hurtful thing of all. The next year was hell. Periods of crying, a month or two of binge drinking. I'm not proud of that, nor the times I went back to him, only to be used and then pushed away right after. "

She took another large sip and her cheeks blushed at this admission. She noticed that Sherlock seemed to shift uncomfortably. Yep, she thought, definitely not an area he's familiar with.

"I finally came to terms with it, accepted it, and moved on." She brushed away another tear and then finished her whiskey and set it down, "Ever since then, there's not really been anyone serious. It's hard to open yourself up again after such a letdown."

Silence hung for a few moments.

"I'm sorry, Molly. I did not mean to cause you distress."

She smiled, "It's okay, Sherlock. If I was truly uncomfortable talking about it I wouldn't have said anything."

"Fair point."

"Well, I hope my story of love and loss has not shattered your thoughts of the subject. Heartbreak happens to everyone. It's shitty, but in then end, there's someone for everyone. At least that's what we're told... Look at John and Mary."

"Yes, you're right. As hard as it is for me to admit, she is good for him."

"And here I thought that your earlier coldness to her was jealously, because you secretly harbored feelings for John." She said jokingly.

"You, and every tabloid in Britain," he smiled.

"Can I tell you something I've never told anyone?" She said.

"Of course"

"The older I get, the more I begin to think and accept that I might never get married."

"Molly, don't be absurd, you're not that old."

"Yes, but at thirty-three and having never been married, and having no children plus an ungodly work schedule, and barely a social life, you just start to realize, that it might never happen... And, I think I'd be okay with that."

"Hmm... No you wouldn't" He said as he finished off his whiskey and set down his glass.

"How do you know?"

"Come on, Molly, it's me. I know you. And you don't want to be alone; you've too much to offer... You don't want to end up like me." As nonchalant as he tried to sound about the last comment, Molly sensed a sadness his tone.

"You're right. I don't want that. To be alone, that is.. But," She reached over and grabbed his hand and held it in her lap. He turned to her to meet her eyes, "Can I just say that since you've come back, I've really enjoyed our time together. And our friendship. I've not felt lonely since, so, thank you. For trusting me and letting me be apart of what you do."

Sherlock smiled and looked where her hand held his, a warmth suddenly spreading itself across his chest, "You're welcome," he said quietly, "you know, you've been a godsend ever since I left. Your friendship has been very important to me, so thank you. I am happy for John, but it has been difficult without him. He was the first real friend I had and coming back and having things change... Well, it was a bit of a letdown. "

She brought up his hand and placed a kiss on it and set it down in her lap, "I couldn't imagine being anything but, Sherlock. You know that. I'll always be here for you."

Sherlock continued to stare into her eyes, "I know," he reached out his other hand and cupped her chin affectionately with his thumb and forefinger, "And, I am very grateful for that. More than you'll ever know, Molly Hooper."

Molly felt the blush in her cheeks and smiled sweetly and lowered her eyes and tilted her head down and placed the tiniest of kisses on the edge of his thumb.

Her eyes flicked back up to his, smiling still, but when she saw the look of surprise in his features her expression changed. Yes, she had just kissed Sherlock Holmes a bit too intimately, too caught up in his words and the moment to think clearly. "I'm... I'm sor-"

Molly's sentenced was cut off as the hand that held her chin moved quickly to cup her cheek. Her breath hitched, words getting caught in her throat as she stared at his face.

The hand that held her cheek tightened and Sherlock slowly, almost experimentally, moved his thumb against her skin.

Eyes still locked on his face, Molly took in what he was doing: He was thinking; memorizing, she concluded. The expression in his eyes, to her, it almost seemed as if there was a conversation going on inside his head. The expression he often got, she knew, when he was working on a particularly challenging case.

Another moment passed, and she felt his grip on her cheek loosen as he brought her face closer to his. Their lips were barely an inch apart, and their noses were now touching. Sherlock hadn't moved them further and was now staring into her eyes. Sensing that he was looking to her for direction, and perhaps, permission? Molly slowly reached up her hand and covered the hand that held her cheek. She then did the boldest thing she could think of and slowly traced the edge of his nose with hers. A few seconds passed and she heard Sherlock take in a large, and almost pleasurable breath as he whispered, "There's always something I miss," and brought their lips together.

The feeling that he felt the moment his lips touched hers was more powerful and more overwhelming than any high he had ever experienced. When he heard the wisps of a moan from Molly, he opened his mouth to hers, and she surprised him by gently sliding her tongue across his.

With their tongues slowly getting acquainted with one another, Molly released her hands from his and brought them up to cup his face, holding him tight to hers, insuring that their kiss would not be breaking anytime soon. When Sherlock responded by pulling her body closer to his, Molly threw caution to the wind and raised herself onto Sherlock's lap. Without breaking the kiss she buried her fingers in the curls that she had been desperate to touch since the first time she met him five hears ago. Sherlock let out a sound that was both a moan and growl the moment she rested on him. Molly was surprised to already find him hard and straining against his trousers.

The sudden feel of her against him flipped a switch inside him. His next set of movements were pure instinct. His mind no longer thinking, his body now responding to her movements and sounds. His hands moved to her shoulders and slowly pushed the blanket off of her. His right hand he kept at her back, his fingers ran across the exposed skin of her upper back. Molly was now thankful she chose to wear the sweater that cut low in the back.

She shivered and could feel the goosebumps raise as his fingers played across her skin. His left hand came to rest on her right stocking-clad thigh. His fingers just at the edge of her skirt. When his nails slowly moved against her thigh, Molly felt the intense rush of warmth pooling into her panties.

Sherlock finally broke the kiss, his fingers still teasing her leg and back, as his lips moved from hers to her cheeks and down to her neck. He suckled and then gently nipped at her skin, "God, Sherlock," Molly hissed as she grind down on his hardness and pulled gently on his hair. His body's response to this action was too intense and caused Sherlock to let out another groan and to suddenly still his movements. The arousal that was coursing through his body was now overwhelming his senses. He knew he was on the brink. His breathing was rapid and Molly could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

A few seconds went by and Sherlock still held her tightly, "Sherlock?" She whispered and moved.

"Shh. Please, don't move," he said pleadingly, " I just... need a moment... Please."

Seeming to understand, Molly stilled. Her breathing calmed and after she counted thirty seconds she felt his grip loosen and his breathing even. She pulled back and looked at his face. Eyes still closed, sweat glistened on his forehead and his cheeks were flush. He leaned back against the couch, his head now resting on its edge.

"Sherlock," She said softly as she cupped his cheek, "are you okay?"

He opened his eyes slowly and kept his head back-his eyes staring up at the ceiling, "Yes."

Molly sensed his uneasiness and slowly slid off his lap and let go of his cheek. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, "I shouldn't have been so aggressive."

"No, you don't need to apologize, Molly," his voice was soft and tender, "forgive me... I'm... This is new to me, I," but he did not finish his sentence. Instead he closed his eyes again, and brought a hand up to his face, turning slightly away from her in embarrassment.

"Hey," Molly scooted next to him and brought her hand to the one that covered his face, "Please, don't hide from me... Don't be embarrassed, please."

He didn't seem to take that in, and Molly still sensing the tension in the room, thought it best she leave him to think, "I should go. It's late and..." She didn't finish but slowly stood up and gathered the tumblers and whisky and headed to the kitchen. She put the glasses in the washer and put the whiskey on the fridge.

She turned to go back to the living room, and Sherlock now stood at the entrance to the kitchen arms stretched out as his hands braced either side of the entrance.

"I've never kissed anyone before." He said bluntly.

"Never?" She asked softly as she approached him, "That... that was your first kiss?"

"Yes."

"So.. You haven't -"

"No." He said calmly but firmly; the expression on his face told her that he now worried that she might think less of him for his lack of experience.

"It's okay, Sherlock," she said tenderly, "please, you don't need to be embarrassed or ashamed. Honestly."

They stood there in a comfortable silence for a few moments .

"I should head home, though. It's late." She made to move past him, but stopped when he grabbed her hand.

"No," he said softly and pleadingly, "stay... Please." Molly read the fear and uncertainty in his eyes. She wanted to give in to him, but she knew that she must stay rational about the situation. She went against her want to stay, thinking it best if they parted ways for the evening.

"Sherlock, there's nothing more I'd like at this moment... but I don't think it's a good idea to keep -"

"No, not like that," he clarified, "just... Please don't go," he looked down at the hand he held, "it's late and it's snowing. You can stay in my room. I'll have the sofa."

Molly thought for a moment and looked at him. She never could say no to him, "Okay."

He let go of her hand and lead her to his room.

"The bathroom's through there. There's a spare toothbrush underneath the sink. He walked over to his dresser and opened a drawer and took out a t-shirt, "I hope this will suffice.. If you do not wish to sleep in your clothes."

Molly inwardly smiled as she noted the hint of a flush on Sherlock's cheeks, "Thank You," she said as he handed her the shirt, "do you want the bathroom first?"

He nodded and disappeared inside. Molly heard the water running and after a good 5 minutes he emerged, dressed now in a worn gray t-shirt and navy lounge pants, "All yours."

Molly walked over and passed him, "Thank you.. For tonight, I mean." She smiled and reached out and set her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"You're welcome."

He closed the door behind him as he left and Molly made her way to the bathroom.

Having used the loo, brushed her teeth, and changed out of her clothes, Molly now only wore her panties and Sherlock's shirt, which came to rest mid-thigh. She shuffled out of the bathroom and laid her skirt, sweater and stockings across his dresser.

She heard a soft knock at the door just as she was about get into bed. She walked over and opened the door for him.

"You okay?" she asked.

"May I kiss you again?"He asked bluntly.

Molly felt her face flush and gave a slight smile and nodded.

Sherlock stepped closer and cupped her chin, "Forgive me. I did not say anything earlier, but, you looked beautiful tonight."

He then brought his lips to hers in a soft kiss. They parted a few seconds later and Molly's eyes slowly opened, as she felt slightly dizzy from his kiss.

"May I see you again tonight? Angelo's Seven-Thirty?" He asked quietly.

Molly nodded and responded softly, "Yes, I'd love that," she smiled brightly at him.

He ran his thumb over her chin and looked into her eyes, "Sleep well, Molly Hooper." He then placed a kiss on her forehead and turned and headed into the living room

Molly closed the door and crawled into his bed and snuggled under his covers. Surrounded by his scent and the memory of the feel of his hands and lips on her, Molly drifted off to sleep hoping that daybreak would soon arrive.


End file.
